


Through Dreams She Soars

by cellist



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: A Song Fic Charting Gwen's Life, Bittersweet, Character Study, F/M, Gen, Gwen-centric, Implied Character Death, Inspired by Music, Once and Future King, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Queen Gwen (Merlin), The Future Queen, lyrical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellist/pseuds/cellist
Summary: This little story charts Gwen's life from childhood to (implied) death - but don't let that put you off! Much like the song this is written as a celebration and embrace of all life has to give. It's inspired by a song, Dreams by Priscilla Ahn. Check out the notes for a link to listen to it (highly recommended!)
Relationships: Guinevere/Arthur Pendragon, Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 3





	Through Dreams She Soars

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this firstly, many years ago, to thefuturequeen on Livejournal. It was in answer to a challenge that was to use the song Dreams by Priscilla Ahn for a story about Gwen. I'd already associated the song with the character, and the show in general, so I leapt at the chance to write it. And this is what came from it. 
> 
> If you've never heard the song, then please do give it a listen, or even better have it on repeat as you read. That's certainly what I did when I wrote this.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKfDwChOoHI

When she was young, her dreams were bright, vivid things that captivated her. They were filled with joy, with things that she had no hope of ever receiving, but still brought her some kind of solace in her night-time travels. Her days were filled with small chores when she was small, but yet old enough to help. From the forge she would wander, through the streets, watching the people as they passed. And as she passed each one she would look at them; take note of the clothes they wore; the dirt on their skin; the life to their eyes, and she would wander, and ponder. These are the people she grew up with, each year slowly pressing in upon the next and with her increasing age came an increasing awareness of who these people were. Her childhood ramblings were amended, made correct, and, at the same time, lost some of their charm.

He who she had passed early in the day, clothes shabby but not yet torn, he who she had once given the profession of master Dragon-keeper to, the man who would brave the beast to feed it and give it sustenance, she later found to be but a humble farm-hand, hurrying to work.

The girl, not much older than herself, who had always captured her attention by her simplistic beauty, became a banished princess within her mind, fleeing from some cruel tyrant, but who was, in reality, another servant just like herself.

And the boy, all gung-ho roughness and brash confidence that she had associated with all boys of that age, she had seen as some future king, a boy who needed guidance from some mysterious figure to help shape himself into a just ruler. The irony was, of course, that in this her childish imagination had been completely right.

These characters, these people from her life would take on their roles, live out their lives within her mind. Deep inside her mind each one had a home, a family, a love to warm them and comfort them during the cold times in their lives. They were her source of entertainment when her father was too busy to pay heed to her, the ones that coloured her dreams so enticingly. During each errand run, or chore completed, she would reward herself with a story, watching each scene play out before her mind’s eye.

She can’t remember when she began appearing in her own stories, in the little plays that lurked within her head, but she did.

A crisp spring day, Camelot’s thoroughfares sparkling in the slowly warming sun, the tint of new life to the air that always brought more to the streets. She wandered through the crowds, smiling at those she knew, ducking her head to those she did not. And in between she thought, and planned and slowly a tale took place in her mind, a tale of a young girl born to lowly rank but pure of heart and will. If the girl bore a striking resemblance to herself, then it was mere coincidence, she shrugged it effortlessly off, besides they were only foolish dreams, not worth anything – what harm could ever come of them? Into this tale came the prince, far too physical for her liking, his love of fighting and hunting making her sigh from afar. But then, slowly, inexplicably, the dream slipped away from her fingertips, her thoughts taking on a will of their own. As she wandered through the streets, through the bustling crowds, she was taken into this story, one where the prince grew and so did she; one where he mellowed and became a man of great wisdom. One in which, on the summer solstice, he turned to her, a mere serving girl and bowed his head in supplication.

It was a dream that so unsettled her, so captivated and enthralled her in equal measure, seeing their home, their love together, that she refused to allow it room in her mind from that day forth. She was who she was; a servant, a girl who would never rise farther than her station befitted. And so, from that day, slowly, one by one, she said goodbye to these characters that had so populated her mind and shut them away. She was too old for childish imaginings, too old to believe that dreams would ever come true.

The years passed slowly. She grew in stature, from lowly servant to royal household. The boy grew into a young man, and her dreams, so long forgotten, ebbed and flowed within her mind at odd intervals. At times when she least expected them to.

Late at night she liked to walk through the forest just without the city’s walls. The night air cooled the castle’s heat, the sound of the forest creatures scuttling through the undergrowth calmed her mind, settled her nerves. And although she had promised herself that she would never allow her mind to become carried away on idle fancy anymore, still she found that certain tales would not die. That, in the starry night sky, she could see them play out once more.

The trees branches cut across her vision, barring the pale moon above, as her head was plagued with endless queries that she could find no satisfactory answers for. Her place seemed fluid, the future she had always thought set, her course steady and sure, suddenly adrift and malleable. It was there, whilst the stars so demanded her attention, as she could feel the very earth beat beneath her body, that she fell, tumbling endlessly over and over into a dreamless sleep.

These are the times she remembers most. The dawn’s light, a slow awakening to a world that felt infinitely different. A world where she found she harboured no misconceptions of who she had to be. A world where the dreams of her youth became the realities she had so vehemently denied.

And on that summer solstice, he came to her not as a prince, or future king, but as a man; a man who she had dreamt of her whole life through.

When she was old, her dreams were tinged with sepia, misted with years of memories. They were filled with joy tinged with sorrow, for those she had lost and loved through her life. And even though there had been no happy ending for her, within these dreams of hers she found that some things could live forever. She travelled far in these dark years, used dreams as a means to venture to places she could no longer physically go to anymore, and to see people long since parted from this world.

Through the days she would speak, and some would listen, would hear the tales she weaved with her words, of high walls and golden princes. Of a kingdom that was pure and just, of a man who she had loved and the dreams that she had found she walked through each day of her life.

Then, as winter seeped into her bones once more, she found that her voice would crack. Would falter and fail. That her eyes, once shining and true, dimmed and faded. Her skin became dry and thin, frail and wrinkled. And she knew that her time grew short.

It was a cold, clear night. The stars twinkled and shone above her as she made her way, painfully slowly, along the midnight stained pathway through the woods. They had grown thicker than she had ever remembered in the years since she had last been there, the brambles catching at her cloak and skirts. The moon was a bright halo of light, peeking above scudding clouds as she neared the clearing where so long ago she had fallen asleep, to awake as if born anew.

And there, beneath Camelot’s skies, she laid, slept, and soared above – as finally she retreated into dreams filled with warmth, and light – and a love that was eternal.


End file.
